


Grocery Run

by Akaadji, Lys (Akaadji)



Series: TMA Hurt/Comfort Week 2020 [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), TMAHCweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:47:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26119015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akaadji/pseuds/Akaadji, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akaadji/pseuds/Lys
Summary: Even a simple trip into town for supplies can be difficult if you've been through enough, but having someone who understands can make all the difference.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: TMA Hurt/Comfort Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1894729
Comments: 7
Kudos: 85





	Grocery Run

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 2 of Hurt/Comfort Week. I took a slightly different approach to the prompt of treating/distracting from injuries by focusing on some of the psychological damage they've suffered rather than a physical injury in immediate need of medical treatment, but I think it's still close enough to count. 
> 
> cw: slight implied homophobia, anxiety, mild self-injury while panicking.

“I suppose we can’t really put it off any longer, can we?” Martin’s voice was cheerful, but Jon could hear the strained undertone as the man searched through the empty cupboards. Unbidden, the knowledge came to him that even before being trapped in his flat for two weeks Martin had always feared the sight of bare pantry shelves. He didn’t want to know that Martin used to plan meals around what he found on deep discount at the grocer’s, so of course the Eye told him. 

“Well, i-it’s a nice day for a walk, at least,” Jon replied, hoping that if the two of them started a proper conversation he would forget the things he’d just learned. It never worked that way, but when had he ever stopped doing something just because it had never succeeded before? Martin’s laughter startled him out of his thoughts. 

“Jon, we haven’t seen the sun in days!” There was a mix of fondness and mild exasperation on his partner’s face, replacing whatever expression had been there before Martin had turned to face him. 

“All the more reason to get some fresh air,” Jon couldn’t help the slight sullenness that tainted his reply, but by now Martin would know that he was just trying to cover his embarrassment so he didn’t force himself to try harder to clarify. His partner’s soft chuckle had the same effect it always did; the still-unfamiliar sensation of something warm and pleasant in his chest rather than the icy grip of fear or pain.

“Right. You’re up for it?” Before Jon could reply, a thought came unbidden to the forefront of his mind.

_**He’s afraid of being alone for too long, and he isn’t wrong to be.** _

“I’ll be fine.” It wasn’t, strictly speaking, a lie. Jon knew that Martin would match his pace, find some reason for them to stop for a moment if he needed to sit down, help the time pass faster with light conversation. And in return, neither of them would have to be afraid of the consequences of Martin being alone with no way to contact him. 

For a lot of the travel time, Jon led the way, but as they drew closer to the village he stopped to wrap his scarf around not only his neck but also the lower part of his face. He’d chosen to put his hair up for the trip in case it was windy, so the wool would have to do for covering many of the small, round scars dotting his chin and cheeks. Martin took the chance to fuss over him a little, adjusting the scarf in what he claimed was a more aesthetic way, then took Jon’s hand. 

_**He does that to hide your burns. So nobody will have to look at them.** _

Even without having the knowledge whispered to him in the back of his mind, Jon had been well-aware of why Martin favored holding his bad hand when they were out in public. What the Eye had left out, seeking to prey on his insecurities, was why. And perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered what Martin told him before everything they’d been through; he would have pushed aside the kind words as a pacifying lie. Now, though...now Jon knew that his partner was well aware of how much he hated that particular scar and that the weight of a larger, softer hand in his own helped to ground him. 

It wasn’t a surprise that as they walked down the main road of the village, the sound of whispers and, in some cases, stage whispers followed them. It might have been a bit disappointing, a tad stressful, but it wasn’t a shock. After all, they were strangers first and foremost. Even before someone had the chance to register that they were two men walking hand-in-hand, they’d notice that they were unfamiliar faces and make snap judgments based on that. 

Martin greeted everyone they passed, and Jon knew that none of them would notice the subtle tells that the man was giving off. Even if they’d looked, Martin had far too much practice hiding his true feelings for just anyone to recognize that anything was wrong. Truthfully, Jon wasn’t confident about whether he would have known if it weren’t for how long he’d spent studying Martin since they returned from the Lonely. He had never been the best at reading faces or social cues, but by now he was at least well-studied in Martin’s tells.   
  
“The Eye has helpfully informed me that sheep have caused more deaths here than human action has,” was what he wound up breaking the silence with. It worked, in that it made Martin stop short with a sound Jon wasn’t sure how to categorize as he covered his mouth with the back of his free hand. Suddenly, Martin’s hand felt a little more solid in his own. 

“ _Jon_.” The name came out a little more high-pitched than Martin intended, going off of the slight blush that followed soon after. 

“Yes, Martin?” His crooked smile might have been hidden behind a wall of dark green wool, but it was apparent enough from the tone of his voice. It was deeply comforting to know that at least when it came to talking with Martin, he would be understood. 

“You-” Martin shook his head, gently squeezing Jon’s fingers. “You are unbelievable, you know that?” Jon made a small sound of agreement, doing his best to squeeze back as they resumed walking. 

There wasn’t terribly much to see in the little grocery, and the amount of time it would take them to get home eliminated even some of the store did have in stock from consideration. They were quietly debating the merits of shelf-stable milk when Jon felt a small tug on the hem of his jumper. Heart racing, he whirled, adrenaline already dumping into his system before he had the chance to register that his assailant was a small child who stared up at him with wide eyes. 

“What’re you doing here, ma’am? An’ who’s he? My ma knows _everyone_ and she was saying to Miss Mason that she’s never seen y-whoa, what’s wrong with your hand?” As soon as Jon realized that the burns were visible, he tucked his hand in the sleeve of the jumper and moved it behind him. He’d been debating loosening the scarf while they were inside, as it had begun to get uncomfortably warm. Thank god he hadn’t done so. 

“Hello, little miss. I’m Martin, and this is Jon. He,” and Martin stressed the pronoun a little, “is my boyfriend and we’re visiting here for a little while. Does your mum know you’ve wandered off?” 

“You’re _English_!” She sounded like she was torn between being awed and horrified at the revelation, and Jon tried to focus on how charming that was even as instinct still screamed at him to run. Children’s attention spans could be measured in seconds, he told himself. She didn’t actually register the way the burns enveloping his hand formed a shape, she just saw something unusual and blurted out the first thing that came to her mind. Jon cleared his throat, contemplating whether he trusted his voice before thinking better of it. 

“Becca! What have I told you about talking to strangers?” A woman who looked to be in her early thirties pulled the child back, kneeling to tap her on the nose with a smile before looking up at them. 

“I’m sorry, you two. Are you...on vacation together?” The moment that she noticed the steadying hand Martin had on Jon’s forearm was audible. Just a slight hesitation, and the slightest shift in tone, but Jon was all too familiar with it. He registered somewhere in the back of his mind that his jaw ached, and unclenched his teeth.

“Yes, we’ve always wanted to see the Highlands in person.” Martin’s voice was polite, but left little room for further conversation. “We’ll let you get back to your shopping.” 

“We’ll have to talk more another time, when you come down just to visit.” The woman motioned at her basket, as though its contents were the only reason she had no interest in dallying longer, and her daughter gave them both an overdramatic wave goodbye before she ran off behind her. 

Jon’s hands scrabbled at the scarf. Suddenly it felt far too tight around his neck, and the feeling of scratchy fabric against his face was too close to that of rough dirt. Once he could breathe again, he realized how much he’d been struggling for air. He hadn’t noticed Martin moving, hiding him from view as best he could without making contact. He was grateful that Martin knew better than to touch him at times like this. Jon met his eyes and mouthed thank you in between deep, shaky breaths. He did his best to stay silent even as his mind screamed at him to gasp for whatever air he could manage to pull in. 

“You’re all right, Jon…” Martin told him softly, continuing with reassurances as Jon fought to calm himself. They’d found out together what worked for each of them through more...incidents than Jon wanted to think about. He forced the self-loathing down, tried to ignore the Eye telling him what a spectacle he was making of himself the first time he’d dared to try to blend in after getting to the safehouse. A quiet clap brought him back to reality, and he was once again hearing his partner’s voice. 

“Jon, you’re digging your nails in. Flex your fingers for me, okay?” Martin imitated the gesture for him, and Jon looked down at his own hands, at the crescent-shaped indents he’d left between two of the scars left by Jude’s fingers.   
  
“Ah.” It was all he could manage to say, but he followed the instruction. His eyes flicked to Martin’s face, automatically searching for some manner of disgust or disdain. He couldn’t find any, though; just sincere concern. However, something was different. Taking another steadying breath, it occurred to him what it was. Once he’d pulled off the scarf, Martin must have taken it and wrapped it around his own shoulders to get it out of the way. 

“Do you want to get some fresh air while I finish up in here?” 

“N-no, I think I’d rather stay by your side. If that’s alright.” Jon still didn’t feel ready for direct touch, which ruled out hand-holding, but he carefully linked their arms. He knew perfectly well how he would feel once the adrenaline faded entirely. Having support would help soon enough, both physically and not, and he bit his lip against a surge of emotion at the knowledge that for once, he could count on having it. 


End file.
